Revenge, Wiccan Style
by sinecure
Summary: Willow gets her revenge on Spike.


TITLE: Revenge, Wiccan Style  
AUTHOR: sinecure  
RATING: R  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything... except my imagination. Joss and all them other people own Spike, Willow and the Buffyverse... more's the pity, I'd like a piece too please.  
SUMMARY: Willow gets her revenge on Spike.  
DISTRIBUTION: ff.net, and my site, possibly some W/S yahoo groups. If anyone else wants it, please ask first. I'd like to know where it's going.  
FEEDBACK: Would be most welcome.  
DEDICATED: To my beta, Claudia, as always. She's awesome.  
  
  
  
Willow wove her way through headstones, unerring in her destination. Spike's crypt lay ahead, with Spike inside--hopefully--completely unaware of what was in store for him.  
  
She almost let out an evil laugh, low, deep and rumbling, wanting to get in the mood, but the thought of being overheard had her closing her mouth with a snap.  
  
She soothed herself with the thought that it was finally time to make him pay for his prank... well, pay with revenge, not die or anything. She could never kill him, not outright anyway. It was just a prank after all, he hadn't actually hurt her. Much.  
  
It'd been a year since he'd come to her dorm room and quite easily convinced her his implant was no longer working. He'd crawled on top of her, completely freaking her out and violating her personal space yet again, something he seemed prone to do at least once a year. He'd touched her in ways only Oz and Tara had... and Xander a few times, but those were weird times best not thought about.  
  
What irked her so much, what really got her blood boiling about his supposed 'prank' was that he'd told her he'd killed all her friends and frightened her into thinking she was next. It was the friend thing that got to her. Up until that point, she had hope that Buffy would come home, or Xander would swing by for a visit. When he told her they were dead, she'd given up all hope and almost welcomed death.  
  
Why live in a world where everyone she knew was dead?  
  
Squinting into the darkening sky shadowed by dusk and clouds, she shrugged her backpack higher on her shoulder. A few yards later, she came to a stop, her eyes taking in the pale gray crypt looming in front of her. It was cold and dark and uninviting. Dead things lived there.  
  
Spike probably felt right at home.  
  
Sighing, she closed the distance to his crypt. A small shiver of fear ran through her at what she was about to do, but she shook it off. It was just residual fear from that night. From when he'd thrown her on her bed and touched her in ways that made her fear for more than just her safety.  
  
She'd been terrified by her utter helplessness at the time, but right now she wasn't helpless, and it was time to repay the favor.  
  
As she approached, she recited a small spell she'd found a few weeks back for just this occasion. After searching tirelessly through old, dusty books and endless web pages, she'd come across all the spells she needed for tonight. And now it was time.  
  
She took a deep breath, wondering where the sweetness was. Revenge was supposed to be sweet, not heart-poundingly scary.  
  
Her hand reached out to take the doorknob, trembling as her fingers closed around the metal. Cautiously, quietly, she pushed the heavy stone door open and peered inside, ready to jerk her head back out at the first sign of an angry vampire.  
  
Her eyes weren't used to near-total darkness, so she couldn't really see anything. She had to rely on her hearing for clues to whether he was out or not. No yelling sounded, no demands to know what she was doing there.  
  
After a minute of complete silence, she felt a tiny bit braver and slipped inside. The door swung shut behind her with a loud thump and she jumped nervously, dropping her backpack to the floor. Leaning back against the door, with her heart pounding out a drum beat of fear, she peered deeper into the gloom.  
  
A relieved sigh escaped her when she caught sight of Spike. He was asleep on the huge bed in the corner. Bed? Where the heck did he get a bed from? she wondered.  
  
"Not really important right now," she whispered in disgust at herself. Her voice, low as it was, echoed throughout the interior, forcing her to jump again. "Jeez, you big scaredy-cat," she mumbled, purposely speaking louder to snap herself out of the fear. He was asleep and there was no way he could wake up... not with the spell she'd done on him.  
  
He was completely oblivious to her presence.  
  
She pushed away from the door and walked closer, feeling a slight sense of power rush through her at the thought. She could do whatever she wanted to him and he'd be none the wiser.  
  
Okay, not so neat, she realized. Having complete and total power over another being was not neat, it was sadistic and evil and... totally something Spike would get off on.  
  
Rolling her eyes, she stepped up on the raised dais and peered at him in the last of the light from the sun as it sank completely behind the horizon. He was well out of the sun, farthest away from the windows, hidden mostly in shadow, but her eyes had adjusted enough to allow her to see him.  
  
He looked dead. Which was not unusual for him, being as he *was* dead. But he was usually more... animated than he was now. Asleep, he just looked dead. It was actually rather fascinating watching him. She'd never seen a vampire sleep before.  
  
He was so pale that he practically disappeared into the-- she snorted, noting that the sheets were satin. He lived in a crypt amongst dead bodies, but slept on satin sheets.  
  
Of course.  
  
At least they weren't black or red, the stereotypical colors vampires seemed to gravitate towards. Nope, just simple white satin sheets. With a nice white comforter. It'd be a shame if those perfect white bedclothes got... dirty somehow.  
  
Her eyes drifted over him, settling on his hair, which wasn't slicked back in the normal way. Huh. She'd never seen him like this. He looked softer, not as harsh.  
  
She let her eyes drift lower, for the sake of-- well, duh, curiosity. And, again, huh. It looked like Spike slept in the nude. Or at least partially nude, judging by his naked, muscled chest, and his bare leg protruding artfully out from under the sheets. All there in the open for anyone to see.  
  
Anyone who snuck in and did a sleep spell to keep him incapacitated, that is.  
  
Drawing in a deep breath to get herself back on track, she bit her lip, taking one last look at him in all his... well, she'd just go ahead and say it: all his glory. And what glory it was too.  
  
Good thing she wasn't attracted to him. Good thing she was gay now, otherwise she might get distracted by that... really nice body he had.  
  
Shaking her head in regret, she collected her backpack from the floor by the door and hefted it onto the edge of the bed. The black vinyl contrasted sharply with the sheets. She unzipped it quietly, still a bit afraid that he'd wake up, and took the rope out, laying it aside as she cast a nervous glance his way.  
  
The sleeping spell had promised results, and guaranteed the only way to wake the sleeper was to counter it with a waking spell. In fact, all the spells carried a guarantee, but what kind of a guarantee could a spell possibly carry?  
  
She'd get her karma back if they didn't work?  
  
This whole plan was costing her some serious karmic points, she was sure of that. And she would gladly suffer them to get back at him. He deserved it. Surely the powers that be would realize that and go easy on her?  
  
Glancing down at him, completely avoiding the naked parts of him, she laid the rope out. She was still a bit nervous being this close to him. Even implanted, he could hurt her. Had hurt her. That was the whole reason she was here.  
  
She reached up, rubbing the faded bite mark on her neck. A reminder of his 'prank'.  
  
Setting the bag on the dais beside the bed, she reached down to the sheet, and with great relish, yanked on it, tearing the material in a few choice spots. Tsk, Spike really should take better care of his things.  
  
Smiling to herself, she ripped again, taking immense pleasure in ruining his pristine white sheets.  
  
"Very nice," she whispered, unbuttoning her shirt and taking it off. Underneath was an old blouse she didn't wear anymore and had ripped earlier in her dorm room. Her jeans went next, they were on over a pair of old shorts she'd thrown on at the last minute to avoid ruining her jeans.  
  
Kneeling down, she stuffed the clothes into her backpack and zipped it up. Turning it around, she unzipped the outer pocket and pulled a couple of bags of blood out along with a pair of scissors. She took one last look at Spike and his clean sheets as she got to her feet.  
  
This was her last chance to back out. So far, all she was guilty of was making Spike sleep and ripping his sheets. Not so horrible yet. She still had time to get the heck out of there and leave Spike none the wiser.  
  
But she didn't want to.  
  
She cut open the first bag with a snip that echoed throughout the stone crypt, accidentally squeezing the bag as she did so. The red liquid bubbled up out of the cut plastic, dripping down her fingers.  
  
"Ugh," she groaned, twisting her mouth up in disgust. "Gross... oh, and sticky." Taking the bag carefully in her right hand, she held it out above the empty part of the bed, turned it upside down and squeezed. A large flow of blood shot out, splattering everywhere, soaking quickly into the white cloth and spreading in rivulets toward Spike.  
  
Dribbling little streams of it up and down the bed she grew brave and flung the bag out, sending blood spraying across Spike, the floor on the other side of the bed, and the far wall.  
  
"Just like finger painting," she mused, opening another bag and going to work with it.  
  
This time she poured some on herself and Spike as well as the bed. When she was done playing with the blood, she ripped the sheets some more--out of spite--and stood back to survey her work.  
  
Blood was everywhere. On her, on him, on the bed, on the floor, and the smell was becoming a problem. She had to consciously force herself to take a breath every few seconds because the smell was so bad. Choking and cloying. Gagging her.  
  
But, wow did it look great. Just like a nice little crime scene should.  
  
Time to get herself ready. She threaded her fingers through her hair, cringing at the grossness of purposely putting blood in it, and shook the strands wildly. The plasma bags went back into her backpack. Sticking her fingers into a large pool of the cold blood in front of her, she wiped it along her neck and smeared some across her face. It was more disgusting this way than it was straight from the bag. At least she hadn't had to touch it when pouring it from the bag. Shuddering, she carefully, slowly reached out and pulled the sheets back.  
  
"Oh, God," she muttered, coughing at the smell. Crinkling her face up in revulsion, she closed her eyes and climbed in beside Spike, cringing at the cold wetness of the blood. "OhGodohGodohGod." Her whole body shuddered as she gagged, trying not to think about what she was lying in.  
  
Forcing her mind on her tasks, she quickly--practically at the speed of light--closed her eyes and laid back, reciting the remaining spells.  
  
Showtime.  
  
  
  
A yawn escaped Spike as he slowly came awake, feeling-- he frowned in confusion. Full? He felt like he'd just sucked down a big meal... a big, human meal. Stretching languidly, he scoffed to himself. Unless a human had slit their throat and offered themselves to him... he'd been dreaming.  
  
A strong scent of blood washed over him when he rolled onto his side-- straight into a wet, sticky spot. His eyes shot open.  
  
"Bloody hell!" he yelled, scrambling out of bed. He stared down in shock, gulping audibly. Shoving his shaking hands through his hair, he felt the dried stickiness of blood on his hands and fingers. In his hair. "What...?"  
  
He held his hands flat out in front of himself, staring at the familiar skin now covered in blood. Also a familiar sight. Usually. But not since the implant. It'd been so long since he'd had a nice big blood bath. So long.  
  
And he didn't remember this one. That's what disturbed him more than anything. That it was Willow was bad enough, but that he couldn't remember doing... that to her-- all of that... "Buffy's gonna kill me." Lowering his shaking hands, he dropped down on the edge of the bed.  
  
Willow's torn and bloodied body rolled slightly as the bed dipped under his weight, but she didn't go too far. Couldn't go far, he thought with a short laugh. She was tied to his bed. Glancing slowly over his shoulder, really not wanting to, he forced himself to examine the bruises and cuts. And the very distinctive vampire bite on her neck. And blood. Blood everywhere.  
  
The source of the human blood? A human. Made all sorts of sense... sense that he wasn't in on. What the hell! Squeezing his eyes shut, he dropped his head back with an angry grunt, trying to work out the sore, stiff muscles in his neck.  
  
He distinctly remembered sucking down a bag of pig's blood before going out to patrol for demons to kill. That had been last night, right? He'd sought out demons who had money that he didn't have. Demons he could easily kill and rob. Right. What he did not remember, and had no recollection of, was tying Willow up, biting and torturing her, and then killing her.  
  
He inhaled deeply, getting another big whiff of her blood. What was going on here? Straightening up with a sigh, he opened his eyes and turned to Willow.  
  
She was just as bad from this view as she had been from the quick glance he'd taken. Her whole right arm was bruised with a long gash running down the biceps. The blood had stopped flowing long ago; most of it was on the bed beneath her, and on her and her clothes. Looking down, he added himself to that list. He was covered in the stuff almost as much as she was.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he called her name, just to make sure she was dead. She didn't answer. He hadn't expected her to. No heartbeat, no pulse. Just lots of dried sticky blood and bruised flesh.  
  
"Oh yeah," he confirmed to himself, "Buffy's definitely going to stake me. Probably out in the nice bright sunshine."  
  
Standing up with a loud groan of frustration, he circled around the bed to the other side, wracking his brain, trying to remember something, anything, but there was nothing. Just a... a blank space where memories should be.  
  
Kneeling beside the bed, he reached out to taste the blood, unable to resist the urge any longer, but pulled back before touching it as a memory of him drinking from Willow came to him. The taste of her blood, filled with magick and sweet enough to down in one gulp.  
  
Glancing down at the bed, he sighed. It looked like he'd had enough already. Though, it also looked like he'd wasted most of it.  
  
"Bugger me," he muttered, surprised with how viciously he'd attacked her. She was Buffy best friend, without a doubt, and he'd... apparently he'd feasted long and heartily on her without one thought to how Buffy would react when she found out.  
  
He was as good as dead now. There were no two ways about it. Buffy'd make it a long, slow, painful death. But, bloody hell, how had it happened? He was still implanted... as far as he knew, so what had happened last night?  
  
Unbidden, an image came to him.  
  
He was whistling merrily as he tied a frightened Willow to his bed. She begged and pleaded, amusing him to no end. He grinned down at her, and she screamed, realizing that this time... oh, this time there would be no timely help. He crawled up the bed toward her, vamped out, and licked his fangs, before plunging them into her neck. The fragile skin tore under his sharp fangs, and her scream was cut off.  
  
Spike spun around, away from Willow and the images in his mind. It couldn't have happened, hadn't happened. He wasn't-- he couldn't do that anymore. Sure he got off on pain and torture--more than a little even--but that was before. And savagery like this had never... it didn't turn him on like it used to. Closing his eyes with a sigh, he realized that he was lying to himself. This was exactly what turned him on. He got off on stuff like this. He was a bloody vampire for God's sake!  
  
And he'd killed the Slayer's best friend.  
  
"She's going to kill me," he muttered, turning to look at Willow's dead body gracing his bed. She was beautiful, like a piece of art, sculpted by him.  
  
She was stretched out with her arms above her head, rope wrapped around the swollen, bloodied flesh of her wrists. Her hair was wild on the pillow, sporting blood as a styling agent. Strands of dark red were pushed back from her face, like they'd had hands threaded through them.  
  
Frowning, he glanced down at his own bloody hands. A sigh escaped him at the sight. His hands had been all over her, cutting her flesh, bleeding her dry. Bruising her. And he had no memory of any of it. Still, excitement shot through him at the sight of such unrestrained violence.  
  
He snorted to himself, yeah, you don't get off on death anymore... right.  
  
Darkness had fallen hours before, it was now well past sunset. And Buffy was possibly on her way there now, to beat him up as usual. Or Xander, he could be heading over to-- well, again, beat him up. Or to get his help in searching for Willow. If she hadn't been seen since the night before... any of them might be on their way to his crypt, to Willow's dead body.  
  
It only took him a moment to make the decision. Flying into action, he pointedly ignored the body on his bed as he gathered a relatively unbloodied pair of jeans from the floor. Grabbing a black T-Shirt from underneath the bed, he shoved his arms into it and yanked it down over him. He sat on the edge of the bed beside Willow as he pulled on a pair of socks and boots, also retrieved from under the bed. As he straightened back up, he caught sight of a backpack that didn't belong to him.  
  
Odd. He'd brought her things with her? That usually didn't happen. Usually, he grabbed his victim and drained them partially before heading home to play. That didn't leave room for grabbing personal belongings. He unzipped the bag--  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Bloody hell!" he yelled, spinning around as he jumped to his feet. The backpack went flying across the room, slamming into the wall with a thud. Silence reined as he stared down at Willow.  
  
He'd turned her.  
  
His lips twitched and an almost insane laugh escaped him before he could stop it. There was a sharp edge to his laughter, as well as to his emotions. The laughter quickly faded, leaving him staring at the girl on his bed.  
  
He lifted his eyes to her face, then slid them shut against the sight of Willow sitting up in his bed as far as the bonds on her wrists would allow her to. Her image stayed fresh in his mind, even with his eyes closed.  
  
Bloody. Torn skin. Ripped clothes. Yellow eyes. Confused eyes. Demonic ridges marring her perfect skin.  
  
Opening his eyes again, he forced himself to look her in the face as he stepped closer. He could see the familiar dementia there, along with the confusion. She wasn't all there, like all vampires newly risen. But there was also something else in there, something he couldn't identify.  
  
She looked around the crypt, trying to figure out what had happened to her, much as he had a few minutes ago. "What-- I'm dead? I'm a vampire? Oh God, oh God, oh God."  
  
Her face went back to normal, but now she was hyperventilating, and Spike almost laughed at the incongruity of it. But he didn't.  
  
He was confused with her response. She wasn't acting like a normal vampire did after waking. Usually there was just an overwhelming hunger and evilness. Death-thoughts. She was displaying none of those things. Glancing over at her in irritation, he sighed. "Stop that. You don't breathe anymore."  
  
She stopped panting, with effort, and stared at him, looking for all the world like a child. Tears traced tracks through the blood and makeup on her face, and her lower lip trembled. "I'm sorry, it's just that I've never been dead before. I don't know how to act. What am I supposed to do?"  
  
If she hadn't sounded so serious, Spike would've rolled his eyes at the typical Willow response. "Act however you want, you're a vampire. Pretty much that's what we do."  
  
Reaching out to her, noting the way she flinched from him, he untied the ropes from around the headboard, releasing her arms. She dropped them with a relieved sigh, unwrapping the rope and tossing it to the bed with a hateful glance. Rubbing her wrists, she sat up, swinging her legs off the bed.  
  
She was so timid, so uncertain. And that irritated him. That she was so much like her human self, well, he knew she always would be to some extent, but he wanted her not to be. He wanted her to be evil or something. "You're not human anymore, so stop acting like it," he snapped, pacing away from the bed.  
  
She stood up, covering herself with her arms. "But I still have my soul," she whispered, biting back a sob.  
  
"Oh, bugger it all," he yelled, spinning away from her and her pathetically wretched face. His eyes darted back and forth as he thought desperately, trying to come up with a reason for this newest hell she'd put him in. But he hadn't clue number one. She shouldn't have a soul. "How'd that happen?" he ground out, turning to face her again. "How'd you keep your bleedin' soul?"  
  
"I don't know," she said softly. Her face shifted back to her demon guise and she raised her yellow eyes to his. "I'm hungry." A second later, her face smoothed back to human with a worried frown. "What am I gonna eat? How am I gonna eat? I can't kill people, Spike. I-- I don't want to."  
  
Her face shifted again; she was losing control. He needed to get her something to eat before deciding what to do with her. Keep her, or kill her?  
  
If he didn't kill her, it was a pretty straight bet she'd tell Buffy.  
  
But how did she have a soul? That question was bothering him almost more than whether or not to kill her. So, he needed answers, and the only way to get those was to not kill her.  
  
Grabbing her arm, he pulled her along behind him. "Come on."  
  
  
  
Willow grinned at Spike's back. This was fun. Lots of fun. She felt free and uninhibited playing the vampire.  
  
Briefly, she wondered at that, but didn't examine it too closely.  
  
Her original plan had called for her to act the soulless vamp, but then she'd had visions of him staking her before she could stop him or explain. So soul-filled Willow she was. She hadn't been able to come up with a reason why, and it seemed like that was now the driving force behind him keeping her alive.  
  
He was curious.  
  
So, she would drag this out as long as she could. Prolong the revenge. Did that make her evil?  
  
They walked in silence through the cemetery, toward the entrance. Spike kept a nervous eye on their surroundings while Willow kept an eye out for anyone she knew, most especially Buffy. The fun would come to an abrupt, and most likely, violent end if she ran into Buffy.  
  
But for now, she was watchful, and content to follow Spike. Just how far she would take the game, she had no idea.  
  
She was pulled out of her thoughts unceremoniously by Spike shoving her roughly against a tree trunk.  
  
"Ow," she moaned, rubbing the back of her head, wincing at the pain there and the dried blood coating her hair and skin. She felt disgusting. As soon as she got home, she was taking an hour-long shower. And then a bath. With vanilla-scented oils and--  
  
"Stay here," Spike whispered, once again snapping her out of her musings. His eyebrows raised in warning, his eyes pinning her in place.  
  
She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but he shook his head sharply and stalked off toward the line of trees to her left.  
  
Not having vampiric reflexes, hearing, sight, or thankfully their taste for violence and blood, Willow stayed where she was, straining for sounds of a fight, or something. What she heard were voices.  
  
Spike's and-- oh, no. Buffy.  
  
Willow hadn't told anyone of her plan. Nor had she told them what Spike had done to her last year. She'd ignored him, acted like nothing had happened, until he'd eventually lost interest, forgotten all about what he'd done, and thought she had no intentions of returning the favor. They'd both gone on with their lives.  
  
And yet, every little thing that happened, Willow found Spike watching her warily. Observing her, trying to figure out whether she was plotting her revenge.   
  
At one point, she'd considered casting a spell to make him fall for Buffy, his mortal enemy, but she'd dismissed the idea almost immediately. She sort of liked the vampire. He was... colorful and interesting. He made life more exciting. And, anyway, she hadn't needed to use magick; he'd fallen for Buffy on his own.  
  
So she'd come up with this.  
  
Make him think he killed and turned her. So far, it was uber fun. It'd been extremely entertaining listening to him mutter to himself and jump around nervously.  
  
Then she'd 'woken up' and the fear of being staked had panicked her enough to play soulful. She'd pretend until she was sure he'd suffered long enough and then spring the surprise on him. He'd be overjoyed, she was sure.  
  
He didn't care about her, except as maybe an annoyance, so it'd been a gamble on whether that would actually make a difference to him or not. Happily, he hadn't staked her. She thought maybe he was a bit leery of killing her because of Buffy, but maybe it was because he knew her. Certainly he didn't care about her, but he'd been forced into living the past year and a half without killing. Maybe it was changing him. Making him more considerate and-- yeah, right!  
  
Rolling her eyes at herself, she glanced toward the trees he'd disappeared through. He was out there talking to Buffy... she wondered what they were talking about. Creeping closer, she positioned herself behind a tree, watching and listening.  
  
"Now look here, Slayer, I--"  
  
Buffy smiled briefly at Spike, reached out to grab him by the lapels of his duster and spun him around, shoving him back against a tree trunk in much the same manner as Spike had done to Willow.  
  
Only not as gently.  
  
When Spike attempted to move, she wrapped her hand around his throat. "No, Spike, you look here," she told him. "I ask a question, you answer said question, and then I leave. Got it?"  
  
Spike grabbed Buffy's hand and tried to pry it off of his throat, but she wasn't letting go. He dropped his arms to his sides, knowing he couldn't do anything without hurting Buffy, and then himself through the chip. "Just ask your question," he ground out.  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Good. This is good, this rapport we've got going. Now," she tightened her hand around his throat, "tell me what you know."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes at her. "Big, green, scaly, sort of like your last boyfriend? Nope, sorry. Haven't seen it."  
  
Buffy's eyes narrowed and she punched him in the nose. "You're about two seconds away from dying for good, Spike."  
  
"Good," he said angrily. "Go ahead and kill me. Anything's better than this. I'd rather be gracing the bottom of a sandbox than be your bloody punching bag. So if we're through here...?" She dropped her hand and he pushed away from her.  
  
Willow ran back to the tree Spike had left her at and waited. Right now, at this moment, she didn't like her best friend very much. She'd never actually seen Buffy deal with Spike since being chipped. Sure, she'd seen the occasional fights and bickering while Spike was chained at Giles', and even afterwards, but she'd never seen anything like this.  
  
Buffy had been downright cruel to the vampire. She'd told them she beat Spike up a lot, and that to him it was like second base, but Willow hadn't really thought she'd meant it.  
  
God, if Buffy did this every time she ran into Spike, that meant she was humiliating him at every turn. How could she do that to someone? Even a vampire someone.  
  
Spike's voice startled her out of her thoughts, and she looked over to the stand of trees to the left to see him watching her impatiently. "Come on."  
  
Willow saw no sign of the anger or torment that must be going through his mind after his encounter with Buffy. He must hate himself for falling for her, she thought, following him quietly. No one could stand being hated by the person they loved. Not even a soulless vampire.  
  
"Spike?" she called hesitantly, glancing sideways at him.  
  
He didn't look her way, just kept walking forward, his footsteps quick and purposeful. "What?" he snarled, sounding anything but inviting.  
  
She flinched slightly at the anger she heard in his voice. Second thoughts were making themselves heard. And third ones too. Telling him the truth now would be a really good thing probably. Only... now she was afraid. "Um..."  
  
He stopped and turned to her. His eyes raked over her face, studying her, looking for something, but she didn't know what. She stood still, letting him look. His face changed with a suddenness that was startling, making her jerk away from him. His jaw was grinding, his teeth gleaming, and still he was... exactly as scary as she remembered from that night in her dorm room.  
  
"I... um-- surprise!" she said nervously, throwing her hands in the air.  
  
He stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. His face turned back to human, confusion settling in its place. "What?"  
  
"Oh. Finis," she muttered, dropping her arms to her sides. Darting a quick glance at him to gauge his mood, she chuckled nervously, hoping he'd see the humor in the night's events. "You are really going to find this funny. You are," she insisted when he looked like he was about to protest. Frowning, realizing the spell hadn't gone away, she glanced down at her unmoving chest. "I said, finis."  
  
"Yeah," he said with a nod, also watching her chest. "I heard you. What are you finished with exactly?" His eyes were less concerned over the non-breathing issue than they were on the uncovered issue. And it didn't really seem to be bothering him per se. In fact--  
  
"Hey," she said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Hello, I'm up here."  
  
He dragged his eyes from her chest to her face with a slow, lazy grin. "Yeah, you are," he agreed, chuckling.  
  
She was strangely flattered by his interest, but now wasn't the time. Actually, never would be a good time for those thoughts. She cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. "So..." she chuckled, smiling nervously and nodding. "Um..." sighing, feeling no need to actually push the air through her lungs, and having to force herself to do so, she held her hand against the side of her neck. No pulse. "Stupid thing. End now," she muttered, darting a quick look in Spike's direction.  
  
He was watching her curiously, impatiently waiting for an explanation. "What are you doing?" he sighed.  
  
Okay, time to come clean, even if the spell didn't want to end. "April Fools."  
  
His grin slipped away faster than butter on a hot skillet. "April Fools...?" he repeated, like he'd never heard the words before. He shook his head, and grabbed her arm. "You mean this is all a... a joke? You stupid--" wrapping his hand around her wrist, he stared down at it, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle. "You're cold and you have no heartbeat... just how far did you take the prank?"  
  
"I did a spell," she said absently, tugging on her arm. "Would you let go, that hurts!" Finally succeeding in jerking her arm out of his grip, she backed away from him. "I did this to get back at you for your little stunt last year." Smiling smugly, she crossed her arms over her chest. "And now I have. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"  
  
"A spell," he mused, staring at her closely. "I hurt you, didn't I?"  
  
"What--"  
  
"Just now. And at the tree." He reached up, ignoring her flinch, and touched the back of her head. "You said ow," he reminded her.  
  
She didn't really think she liked where he was going with this, it made her a bit nervous. "Yeah, I suppose you did."  
  
He smiled evilly, pressing harder on her head, dragging her toward him. "You do realize that this goes way beyond a prank, don't you?" he hissed, his eyes boring into hers. "I almost staked you. How alive do you think you'd be then?" He paced away from her, turned around, fixed a furious look on her and then paced back.  
  
A shiver of fear ran down her spine at the anger on his face, but she chose to ignore it. She knew spells, she was safe from him. "I'm not stupid," she told him. "Why do you think I pretended to have my soul?"  
  
He laughed with genuine amusement, shaking his head in disbelief. "Do you really think that matters to me? You're food--cattle--nothing more. Your soul didn't save you, my curiosity did."  
  
That news wasn't really news to her. She'd suspected as much, but it still hurt to hear. Shrugging, she started back toward his crypt to retrieve her backpack and change her clothes. "Well, whoopdeedoo," she said in contempt, "call the papers, Spike doesn't care."  
  
A hand grabbed her after only a few steps, spinning her around so fast that she fell to the ground. Spike stood above her, looking none too happy with her. "Buffy's not even enough to save you at this point, so I'd suggest you shut that damn mouth of yours." He spun away with a growl. "For once in your bloody life, just shut up!"  
  
At a loss as to why he was so angry, she pushed herself to her elbows and watched him pace in front of her. "You know, Spike--" she stopped abruptly as a cramp seized her stomach, forcing a groan from her lips. Sitting up with a gasp, she smoothed her hand down her stomach, wondering what the heck was going on.  
  
Feeling something tingle on her face, she raised her hand to her forehead, feeling the bumps from her vamp-face in place.  
  
Uh-oh. Why had her face changed? She hadn't willed it. Obviously the glamour, still working at full power, was messing up. "Oh, this is not good," she mumbled.  
  
"What now?" Spike asked irritably, glancing over his shoulder at her. He did a double take when he saw her game face on, and even turned around to watch her. "Could you... not do that?" he said quietly, stepping closer to her.  
  
"Why? Apparently I'm hungry."  
  
He stepped even closer and she noticed his hands fisted at his sides.  
  
"What--" she started to say, but he cut her off.  
  
"Get up," he ordered, his eyes flashing yellow at her. The rest of his face soon followed, getting bumpy and ridge-filled, just like her own.  
  
"Uh, no." She shook her head at him with a scoff. "I think I don't want to. Yeah, I definitely don't want to, so, uh-uh."  
  
He reached down, wrapping his hand around her forearm, yanking her to her feet with a snarl. "For the moment, I can hurt you, so you'd do well to obey me." Letting go of her, he inhaled deeply and let the air out in a hiss. "Human blood," he whispered, looking very hungry. "Yours?"  
  
Willow swallowed hard and attempted to widen the distance between them.  
  
As quick as she'd ever seen him move, he grabbed her arms and pulled her closer until she was pressed up against his chest. And the fact that it was a nice chest meant nothing to her since it was also a chest that belonged to Spike. Even if it was nice and manly. Manly being the key word... why was she attracted to him? He was a man. She didn't like men anymore.  
  
Did she?  
  
His eyes slid from hers to the ridges on her forehead. The hands holding her loosened and moved up to her face, cupping her cheeks gently. His thumbs traced the ridges same as his eyes had.  
  
She pulled back, a little more slowly than she intended because his hands were causing strong jolts of desire to course through her. Desire that she shouldn't be feeling except from Tara. That made her jerk back to stare at him, though he didn't release her. "Do you mind?"  
  
"Shh," he said absently, a small frown creasing his own forehead.  
  
She wasn't even sure he was talking to her; he looked like he'd forgotten she was even there. But when he leaned down and licked the blood on her neck, she was convinced he knew she was there. Oh yeah, he definitely knew. Her own hands rose to his shoulders. The feeling of his tongue dragging across her skin was too much for her to take. Her nerve endings were on fire, burning through her skin. An ache began in her stomach, though this time it had nothing to do with hunger. Her fingers dug into his duster as his tongue and lips worked along her neck.  
  
A second later he lifted his head, licking his lips with a heavy-lidded look. His face returned to normal as he mumbled, "Human, but not yours. There's no magick."  
  
With a breath of cool air in the form of a gust of wind, she was able to clear her mind and think more rationally. She dropped her hands from his shoulders and stepped back. "I have to go. Now." But she didn't want to. She wanted him to touch her some more and stir those feelings in her again. Those feelings that seemed to be stronger than anything she'd ever felt from anyone else before.  
  
Her own face returned to human, she felt it shift in the form of magick, tickling her skin and making it tingle. She stepped back again, but Spike didn't release her.  
  
She wasn't sure if she should groan in annoyance or jump for joy. He dropped his hands from her face to her wrists, that drunk look still there. He lowered his head, looking down at her chest briefly before slowly raising his eyes to hers. And then just as suddenly as before, his mouth descended to hers and she had just enough time to gasp before his lips touched her. The kiss was anything but gentle, it was rough and hungry and filled with so much need.  
  
The burning under her skin turned to liquid fire, scorching along her veins and searing her with delicious sensations that she didn't want to stop. Ever.  
  
She closed the distance between them, pressing herself against him. Her breasts, aching and heavy, pressed into his chest, her hips fit snugly against his, completing her in a physical way that left nothing to be desired, except more of him. Sliding her hands down his shirt, she yanked it from the waistband of his pants and slipped her hands under the soft cotton.  
  
He gasped as her cool hands slid along the flesh of his stomach, her fingernails scraping softly. Something sharp and electric flowed between them, forcing them both to jerk back in surprise. She stared up at him, panting for breath she still didn't need. His eyes glowed gold, but his face remained human as he tilted his head to the side.  
  
A small measure of rationality slipped into her mind, and she pushed herself away from him with disappointment. She found herself wishing she hadn't come back to her senses. She wanted Spike, in a bad way, but she couldn't do that to Tara. She couldn't cheat on someone again.  
  
He stepped forward with her, dropping his hands to his sides. "Don't go."  
  
Her eyes widened in surprise at the earnestness she heard in his voice. The near-pleading. When he saw her uncertainty, he took advantage, moving closer and reaching for her. She held her arms out to halt him, and took a deep breath. "Spike, you're just doing this to get back at Buffy, and I'm just..." she sighed, looking down at the ground. "I'm a bad girlfriend." Raising her eyes back to his, she straightened her shoulders and smoothed her hands down her shorts. "You don't want me."  
  
"Wrong." He frowned even more, his lips turning down in a distinctly self-deprecating manner before pulling her to him again. "I do want you." He briefly touched his lips to hers again before smothering her mouth with his own. His cool lips pressed hard against her, forcing a response that she was all too eager to give him.  
  
She sucked in a breath as the too-strong feelings once again started to come alive, overwhelming her. His tongue slid between her lips, circling her own and drawing it into his mouth. Hands ran down her shoulders to her hips, holding her against his erection briefly before lifting her up and settling her on the grass. The cold, hard ground did little to diminish the desire that now had a firm hold on her. Way more than it should have.  
  
Essentially, she was a vampire and she didn't need to breathe, so she took full advantage of that by kissing him back more deeply. She was shocked by her own eager response to his touch, the passion he roused in her. This wasn't her. She wasn't normally the type to just lie down in a dark cemetery at night with an evil vampire who was currently in love with her best friend. But, as his hands slid under her shirt to her aching breasts, she couldn't stop the small shiver of desire that worked its way through her. Nor could she possibly find the will or the want to stop him.  
  
He sat up, straddling her waist as he ran his hands along her flesh, under the torn shirt, around her back. And then his hands were under the waistband of her shorts, tugging them off. Instead of stopping him, she lifted her hips, closing her eyes as the material was dragged down her legs and off.  
  
She knew, even as his mouth settled on her lips, and his hands caressed her breasts, that this wasn't for her, not even the slightest bit. This was all for Buffy. His anger and frustration and humiliation were all being poured into desire, and he was taking it out on her. Willow. Not Buffy.  
  
And she liked it.  
  
His hands sent little shivers of need hurtling through her. Her fingertips tingled every time she touched his skin, so she threaded her hands into his hair, seeking more. The silky softness of the blonde strands was a surprise; she'd always thought it would be stiff and brittle. But it was soft, so soft.  
  
When his hands drew her shirt over her head and tossed it away, she gasped, feeling naked. Possibly because she was. The cold grass beneath her tickled her back and legs, making her shift underneath him.  
  
Spike stared down at her as he peeled off his shirt. Instead of tossing it to the side, he balled it up and slid it under her head. Something more than lust filled her at the gesture, but she remained silent as she watched him unfasten his pants and get to his feet to take them off. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she and Spike would... be doing what they were about to do, but she definitely didn't want to stop.  
  
He knelt on her, straddling her legs again. Her eyes, never having seen anyone so... wow before, were having a bit of a hard time taking him in all at once. His pale body was anything but sickly looking, like she'd always imagined a vampire to be. It was gorgeous, muscular and beautiful, reminding her of earlier, when she'd first seen him amidst the white sheets of his bed. Again, like then, he reminded her of a piece of art, sculpted just so until he was perfect.  
  
She inhaled deeply, smelling something earthen and so man-like that it could only be Spike. Blinking against the wind starting to whip up, she felt her hair--sticky and matted with blood though it was--tickling her cheeks. Glancing up at Spike to see what was keeping him from touching her some more, she was struck with another cramp in her stomach. Pain seized her insides, tightening her already taut stomach into knots. She blinked against the tears causing Spike's image to shimmer along with the trees above them. The moon, a full golden circle in the sky, hovered above them as she fought for breath.  
  
She closed her eyes, bringing her knees up to ease the pain, but Spike was there, halting the movement. Anger swept through her, and she snapped her eyes open, shoving at him.  
  
He grabbed her arms, holding her still until she stopped fighting against him. "What the hell is the matter with you?" he growled, vamping out mid-sentence.  
  
Instead of turning her off, it only served to turn her on even more. Something inside her was taking control and she didn't care. It felt good. Liberating. Her own face changed, and her hands gripped him more tightly. With strength she didn't know she possessed, she sat up and flipped them over, leaning down into his face with a snarl.  
  
"You're not the only one with urges," she taunted, leaning in to nuzzle his neck before biting down hard. Spike's body jerked up involuntarily, but he held her still as she drank from him. "The least you could do is let me have a little taste."  
  
The first taste of blood flowing past her lips and into her mouth was like nothing she'd ever tasted before. There was more than just blood there. It was as if she was drinking Spike himself, his very essence. A feeling of power surged through her, making her dizzy. She grinned, pulling back slightly, wrapping her hands around his wrists. "See how you like it."  
  
His eyes slid across her face, taking in every nuance of her vamp face, apparently liking what he saw because his erection was still prominent between them. "I like it," he chuckled, yanking his arms free to pull her down for a kiss. "To a point."  
  
She laughed deeply, knowing, somewhere deep inside her that something was wrong, but she truthfully didn't care enough to figure out what. She liked the sudden freedom she had. The lack of worries and guilt.  
  
Her hands, on the ground on either side of his head, pushed her up and away from him, breaking the kiss with a small twinge of disappointment, but she had other pleasures in mind. Sitting up straight, she slid her hands down his chest, scraping the flesh with her fingernails, drawing a tiny amount of blood. Licking her lips, she resisted the urge to taste it and dropped her eyes as well as her hands to the long, hard piece of flesh between them, just begging to be touched.  
  
With a seductive glance at his face, she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slowly. He hissed in a breath, his hips jerking up. She held still until he stopped moving, then tightened her hand around him. With each stroke up, she rubbed the tip with her thumb. His whole body jerked and wetness seeped out onto her thumb. She lifted her thumb to her mouth, sucking on it as she looked down at him. "All this for me?" she asked saucily.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her. "This spell you did..." he questioned, settling his hands on her hips, "does it by chance, turn you into a real vampire?" He urged her up, his fingers biting into her flesh as he waited for her to answer and lower herself onto him.  
  
She shrugged, a smile curling up her lips. "Maybe." Lowering herself onto him with a gasp from both of them, she laughed, clutching at his chest with her fingers. The urge to taste his blood again was too much to ignore. She leaned forward, licking at one long thin trail of blood. As soon as her tongue touched the liquid, the hunger came back.  
  
Spike drew in a breath as her mouth settled over one of the scratches and began to suck. She glanced up at him briefly. He was watching her with eyes filled with a hunger that matched her own. He'd been without human blood for so long. It was really wrong to make him go without for any longer than he had to. She could give him plenty of her blood. He dropped his head back with a groan as she tightened her muscles on him.  
  
His demon face was so beautiful. Raising her mouth from his chest, she kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth.  
  
He lifted his head, wrapping a hand around the back of her head, holding her to him. When she attempted to pull away, he kept her there, tightening his hand.  
  
Not liking him having complete control, she pressed her hands down on his stomach, and lifted her hips, sliding off of him slowly. When she dropped back down, he released her head to grab her hips. She tilted her head to the side, baring her neck to him. "Bite me," she told him, her eyes glowing brightly. She wanted to feel his teeth pierce her flesh. Wanted to know what it felt like when a vampire sucked her blood from her during sex. Harmony's puny little attempt had barely broken the skin, she didn't count.  
  
He opened his mouth wide, about to bite down on her flesh when he hesitated, his eyes darting up to hers. "I can't."  
  
She groaned in frustration, rolling her eyes at him. "Yes, you can." When he still didn't move, she raised her fingernails to her neck and started tearing at the flesh, closing her eyes in ecstasy. She moved on him faster, feeling her whole body burning up from the inside out.  
  
"Stop that," he hissed, grabbing her hand, halting her. A second later, he lowered his mouth to her neck and licked at the small scratch she'd made. "God," he groaned, "it's been so long." He thrust deep inside her, biting into her with a growl.  
  
Willow threw her head back with a scream, her body clenching around him in orgasm. She continued to move on him, not wanting to give up the feelings coursing through her from his mouth on her neck and his body buried deep inside hers.  
  
He rolled them over, his mouth not letting go of her neck for even a split second. He sucked in huge mouthfuls of her blood, swallowing rhythmically against her neck as he thrust harder. His body was going deeper than Oz had ever gone, faster than Tara could touch her. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as another orgasm approached.   
  
And then suddenly he stopped, thrusting into her one last time as he came. His mouth continued to draw in her blood as he relaxed against her.  
  
She silently cursed him for halting her second orgasm, but soothed herself with the knowledge that there would be more soon enough. She had no intention of letting this be a one-time thing. She exhaled softly, winding her arms around his head, holding him to her neck. The feeling was more than she'd ever imagined it could be. Every movement of his mouth and lips and tongue against her created a tingle of passion, sending it simmering through her like wildfire.  
  
Weakness began to fill her, flooding her with a warm honey-like feeling. Closing her eyes, she felt her heart beat against her chest. Once. Then again. Her hands loosened from his hair, dropping to the ground beside her with a boneless thump.  
  
Her eyes slid open languidly to stare up at the sky above them. Stars twinkled, reminding her of Tara's eyes when she laughed. There was a small line at the corner of her eyes that would crinkle up in the cutest way when she smiled. It had become a habit to kiss those lines when they snuggled.  
  
The view blurred as tears slid down into her hair. Feelings flooded into her, guilt and shame being the biggest among them. Whatever had just happened to her was fading and she now regretted it all. Every single little bit of it. It hurt so much that she'd once again cheated on her lover. And he was still inside her, on top of her.  
  
The sucking on her neck slowed. His hand threaded through her hair, pushing it back from her face as he raised his head. His eyes dropped to her chest. Could he see her heartbeat? she wondered, or did he just hear it?  
  
She was sure she saw disappointment cross his face before it went blank. He climbed off of her, looking around for his clothes. She closed her eyes and rolled away from him with a sigh. Tears slid to the ground, her breath moving the grass blades as she breathed. Something heavy and cold settled over her, startling her. She looked up to see Spike, dressed in his jeans. His coat was covering her as he searched for her clothes.  
  
It was too intimate, she wanted to tell him, but she remained silent, sliding her arms under the heavy leather with a shiver.  
  
She laid still and waited, for what she wasn't sure. She watched a vase of wilted flowers on a grave a few yards away as the wind kicked up again, sending petals flying away on the breeze. After a minute, Spike stepped into view. She glanced up at him. He was fully clothed, holding her clothes out for her.  
  
She sat up with a sigh, holding his coat to her chest with one hand as she took the clothes from him. Pulling them on as best she could under the duster, she kept her eyes on the ground, refusing to look his way.  
  
She was ashamed of the way she'd acted. Ashamed of herself for practically attacking him and forcing him to sleep with her. One of the spells, one of the stupid spells with a guarantee, had screwed up. Or had she screwed up? Something went wrong and she'd become a vampire for a short period of time.  
  
And that, dear wicca, is what you get for trying to exact revenge. It went against everything wiccans believed in. It was the stupid wiccan creed. Whatever you send out, comes back threefold. She should've listened.  
  
When she was fully dressed, she handed him his coat.  
  
He took it silently. She thought she saw disappointment on his face, but it was gone so quickly she was left wondering if it had been there at all. Probably not.  
  
He looked away, lighting a cigarette with a sigh.  
  
Angry and disgusted with herself for ever having concocted this stupid plan, she stood up, wrapping her arms around herself. His handsome face, which still made her want to touch it, even now, turned to hers. He did regret very well, she thought, and kudos to him. His eyes, no longer blank, were wistful.  
  
For what? For having to make due with a poor substitute for Buffy? Or for what might have been if she'd really been a vampire?  
  
When she remained silent, he sighed heavily, slipping his cigarette between his lips to free his hands to drape his coat over her shoulders.  
  
She sniffled, wiping her nose with her arm. "Thanks."  
  
He shrugged, nodding in the direction of his crypt. "Come on."  
  
She waited until he started walking before following him. Watching his back as he moved, she let the tears fall again, knowing it wouldn't be the last time. 


End file.
